You Deceived Me…
by Sesshybabes
Summary: True, he had deceived her, he would admit, telling her he was the Angel of Music sent by her father. His deception ran deep, but he found hers ran just as deep… EC I don't like Raoul. Evil fop…
1. Denied Me and Betrayed Me

_**You Deceived Me…**_

**Phantom Phanfic**

Summary: True, he had deceived her, he would admit, telling her he was the Angel of Music sent by her father. His deception ran deep, but he found hers ran just as deep… EC I don't like Raoul. Evil fop…

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**Chapter 1: Denied me and betrayed me…**

_Angel of Music, you deceived me…  
__More deception? More violence?_

Even now, he heard their voices. Even after one year since that fateful, condemning day. Whispering to him, speaking to him of his deception, his lies. He could remember it all as if it had happened yesterday. But most of all, he remembered her words, her face, her voice…

_Damn her…_ he cursed silently.

Even after one year, she wouldn't leave him along. He couldn't forget her; he knew he'd never be able too.

Especially after that…

After she'd kissed him…

He could still feel her touch, the soft press of her lips against his. How her touch haunted him!

For that one moment in his life, Erik had felt bliss, a taste of the Heaven that had denied him. Heaven had come to him for that one moment in the form of this beautiful angel that stood before him, kissing him. And then it had all been ripped away from him cruelly, leaving him filled with more longing than before. He had been in Heaven for a single moment before he was plunged into a Hell worse than the one before, as if the angels sensed his unholy presence in their realm of glory and had banished him for trespassing. For one moment in his life though, he had believed his angel was his.

He laughed bitterly at himself and his foolishness.

No, his angel was no longer his; had she ever been?

He would have been able to tell himself bitterly that no, she had never been and might have gotten on with his miserable existence and tried to pick up the pieces of his shattered life if it hadn't been for that unguarded look in her eyes after she had kissed him. He had seen it, briefly for but a moment, but it had been there. He had seen love and passion in her eyes. Love and passion for _him_. He had told himself many a time that he had just imagined it, but he knew that wasn't true. It had been real, the intensity of the look burned into his soul forever.

He cursed her again, silently.

When he had looked into her eyes before, he had seen only what she wanted him to see, always guarded after he had returned her.

_After she had seen his face…_ he thought bitterly.

That look he would never forget. He would carry it with him to his grave.

But then, then she'd denied him again! Always denying and betraying! Leaving him unsatisfied and longing for more…

_Angel of Music!  
You denied me,  
turning from true beauty…  
Angel of Music!  
Do not shun me…  
Come to your strange  
Angel…_

he sang softly, gradually crescendoing as his voice echoed his anger and his longing. Even long after he had stopped, the empty Opera House, burned, broken, and shattered – _Not unlike his heart _– echoed with his voice. He then thought he heard her voice echoing back in perfect harmony.

_Angel of Music!  
I denied you,  
turning from true beauty…  
Angel of Music!  
My protector…  
Come to me, strange  
Angel…_

He always heard her echoing back in his head.

_And he'll always be there,  
__singing songs in my head…  
__he'll always be there,  
__singing songs in my head…_

he thought, mockingly.

But she had had called him her protector. Why?

_It frightens me…_

If he frightened her so, then why had she called him her protector, her angel? _Why had she kissed him?…_

He threw an abandoned candelabrum into the wall, the dull thud echoing in the silence, helping to calm his anger.

_Damn her…_ he thought.

But he couldn't stay angry with her for long, he never could. He loved her… Even after a year had passed, he still loved her.

He managed to calm himself some, looking over the ruins of his home.

The mob had not spared him and had gone to pillaging some of his treasures and belongings. The fire had destroyed the rest. The only room that suffered little or no damage was the Louis-Philippe room. He magnificent organ was a mere pile of metal and debris, the keys scattered everywhere, burnt and blackened. His coffin was a pile of ashes, the swan bed broken in half, burnt and ripped. The sheets were burned and smelled of smoke. All the mirrors were shattered. Most of the candelabras were bent in some way, either from the fire, the mob, or himself. Most from the latter. The few in descent condition had candles lit in them, casting little light into the eerie gloom. Even his boat had burned and he'd had to make a new one to cross the lake.

But the Louis-Philippe room had survived the mob, the fire, and his anger. It remained relatively intact. Before her dressing room had burned down, he'd taken her things there. She hadn't come back for them. He had treasured her things. They brought to him both comfort and pain. A few of her dresses, a hand mirror, a pair of old ballet shoes, a hair ribbon, a pair of gloves, and a portrait of her and her father.

His music could no longer comfort him, both her and the fire had made sure of that. The fire had destroyed his beautiful organ and all the instruments left in the Opera House. It had also burned his music. It laid in piles of ashes, charred beyond recognition. He was stripped of everything but his voice.

And she had taken the little comfort he had in that as well! Whenever he sang, he heard her voice. She was always there when he sang, singing with him. She had been his inspiration, his pupil, and his mind would never let him forget that. Her voice was forever ingrained into his mind. He always remembered her betrayal in _Don Juan Triumphant_, when she ripped off his mask… When he'd touched her…

Always he felt her presence, longing for her warmth, her touch, her lips on his… He longed to hold her again, to touch her as he had in _Don Juan Triumphant_, to reawaken that passion between them during his Opera…

He could hear her voice as if in reply to his thoughts, singing in his mind, the voice as fresh as when she'd sang it. He closed his eyes and saw her there on stage with him again, singing his _Don Juan Triumphant_.

_You have brought me  
__to that moment  
__where words run dry,  
__to that moment  
__where speech  
__disappears  
__into silence,  
__silence…_

_I have come here,  
__hardly knowing  
__the reason why…  
__In my mind,  
__I've already  
__imagined our  
__bodies entwining,  
__defenseless and silent –  
__and now I am  
__here with you:  
__no second thoughts,  
__I've decided,  
__decided…_

_Past the point  
__of no return –  
__no going back now:  
__our passion-play  
__has now, at last,  
__begun…  
__Past all thought  
__of right or wrong –  
__one final question:  
__how long should we  
__two wait, before  
__we're one…?  
_

_When will the blood  
__begin to race,  
__the sleeping bud  
__burst into bloom?  
__When will the flames,  
__at last, consume  
__us…?_

He opened his eyes, the memory receding again. The music of the night had truly ended that night…

And as he gazed at his reflection in the shattered mirror, he knew then that he had to know. He had to know if that passion was real, or if she was a better actress than he thought…

He had to know or she would never leave his mind. He had not forgotten her betrayel on stage or that snowy day on the roof with the Vicomte, but that look in her eyes as she kissed him, as she sung on stage with him…

He had to know. True, he had deceived her, he would admit, telling her he was the Angel of Music sent by her father. His deception ran deep, but he found hers ran just as deep if that look in her eyes was real…

Gathering his cloak and making himself presentable, he quickly made the journey over the lake on his new boat and made his way to the mirror. Stepping through, he stopped for a moment in the place that had come to be both his sanctuary and his own private Hell. His fingers trailed over the mirror, leaving finger marks in the dust before he turned and left her dressing room and the Opera House for the first time in a year. It was a cold night that met him as he made his way through the shadows to a nearby stable, intent on stealing a horse. He had heard she'd moved in with her husband, the Vicomte. The thought made him choke and sob with bitterness.

He had told himself it would be a cold day in Hell before he saw her again. And it _was_ a cold day in the Hellish nightmare of his own making that was his life…

* * *

A young, blonde woman and an older woman walked down the street towards their house, conversing quietly.

"Do you think he's still alive, maman?" The younger woman ask quietly. The older woman sighs and shakes her head. "I don't know Meg, I don't know… I hope he is…" The girl, now identified as Meg, nodded. "I do too, maman… Do you think he might try to take Christine ever again?" Meg asked tentatively.

The older woman was about to reply when a shadow in a dark cloak riding a black horse swiftly passed them silently. A flash of white and then only the sound of hoof beats drawing farther and farther away. They now knew the answer. The Phantom of the Opera was alive…

* * *

Erik rode the horse he'd stolen through the empty, deserted streets of Paris under the moonless night sky, his cloak billowing out behind him as the wind rush against him, as if trying to stop him. He pressed his steed faster until it seemed the horse was flying, barely touching the ground and everything around them blurred slightly. The cold wind bit into him, but he ignored it. Nothing would stop him tonight. Nothing would deter him from his course. He had to see her, needed to see her again.

He had to see his Christine again…

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Hello. Good or no? Suggestions are welcome as is constructive criticism. Hope you liked it. This is one of my first Phantom Phanfics, though not my true first. It's the first one I've ever shown anybody else though. No rough language, as usual, or the favor will be returned to you as usual, unless you're like some of those people who put 'Damn that was good!' or something like that. I had that question once. Just no cussing me or anybody else out. Rating may change to M later. No I don't own Phantom of the Opera. And I don't own Erik. I'm just borrowing him. With no intent of returning him. Please R&R. Fay. 


	2. Why This Torment?

_**You Deceived Me…**_

Phantom Phanfic

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I am so sorry for the lack of update! I have had so much going on, but I promise to try and go faster this summer if I don't get depressed again. _Sigh… _I just miss my friends a lot.

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Summary: True, he had deceived her, he would admit, telling her he was the Angel of Music sent by her father. His deception ran deep, but he found hers ran just as deep… EC I don't like Raoul. Evil fop…

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**  
Chapter 2 : Why this torment?**

Vicomtess Christine Daae de Chagny sat in the shadows of the master bedroom at her new house she shared with her husband Raoul. The countenance she wore would suggest peace, happiness, and contentment. Yet, if one looked more closely, one could see the deepening shadows under her eyes, the paleness of her skin, and the far-away, haunted look of her eyes. And Christine was haunted. She was haunted by a memory, a ghost, a phantom. Christine was haunted by memories and plagued with dreams of a teacher, an angel. And as much as she tried to escape the dreams and bury the memories, they came back with full force, harder than before to burden her. A deep melancholy had settled deep within her, though her charming smile and happy words would convince almost anyone of otherwise. To put it simply, Christine was tormented.

She sighed. Even her dear husband Raoul had no idea of the truth depth of her sorrow. He had caught her a few times glancing at her mirror mournfully and nearly sobbing whenever she heard any music. He had merely thought it was a brief remembrance of the times at the Opera House and had tried to help lessen the painful memories from arising by cutting down the number of mirrors in the house and exposing her to music. His efforts were kind and she was grateful for his attempt to help. But nothing seemed to help. He must never know the extent _he_ had affected her. How much he _still_ affects her. The simple truth was, he was everywhere she looked. He was the song in the birds chirping and the crickets' melody. He was the reflection in the mirror. He was the man standing at the edge of the lake. He was the shadows lurking at the edge of the light. He was everywhere, all around her, within her.

_Curse him…_ she thought bitterly. Now that she was finally away from him, from the Opera House, from the house on the lake, he still was there! Even when he was gone, he was there! Perhaps this was a trick performed by the master magician? But it was too real, too lasting to be a trick… Would he ever leave her alone? She closed her eyes. Would he ever stop singing songs in her head? No… He wouldn't. She knew that now. She opened her eyes. He was the music of her heart and her heart mourned the loss of its tune. Even after a whole year had passed since the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_, the pain was still just as intense as it had been then when she had left with Raoul. It had felt like a piece of her soul had been trapped down there in the cellars of the Opera House with him, to suffer as he suffered. To grieve as he grieved.

Poor Raoul. Poor, unsuspecting Raoul. He deserved a better wife. One who would not only be faithful to him in body, but in mind, heart, and soul as well. But how long go she deny her tormented soul? How long could she hold her desire back? Her eyes hardened. Forever if need be. She would refuse her own heart. She had hurt him and herself already. She would not hurt her poor, beloved Raoul as well.

She sighed. She had realized the truth too late. It had only been when she was leaving with Raoul and she felt a piece of her soul leave her that she realized the truth of her feelings. She loved Raoul, but she was _in love_ with him. With _Erik_.

Christine shook slightly. She had not spoken his name since the night she had left with Raoul. She had rarely even allowed herself to think it. The emotions that stirred within her frightened her, yet excited her. He awoke within her feelings that could not be explained with simply words. Words would put to shame the way she felt when she thought of him. Even now, her body knew her soul mate even when her mind refused to admit it.

"_Erik…"_ she whispered softly, a genuine smile appearing on her face. The simple joy of saying his name was intoxicating. Everything about him was intoxicating. Even his name. _Erik…_ She shivered. The power he had had over her, that he still had over her, frightened her. But that which frightened her about him, also attracted her, excited her, made her want it all the more. As much as she loved him, she feared him. No man should hold that kind of power over a woman. But he did. Did he know how much power he had over her? She shook her head. Well, it didn't matter anyways. She would never see him again. She closed her eyes and allowed a few tears to escape her eyes and travel down her cheeks. She then took a shuddering breath and opened her eyes, which shone stubbornly, determinedly. Even if she _did_ see him again, which she doubted for Raoul would take her nowhere near the Opera House, she would never give into him. She would deceive him again, just as she'd deceived herself. Just as he'd deceived her. She hated lying to her angel, to her heart, but this was the choice _she_ had made. And she wasn't going back on it.

She peered into the sunset from her place on the balcony. Raoul was already asleep, expecting to awake in her embrace in the morning. Which he would. Which he _always_ would. Oh, Raoul… If only you knew… If only you _could_ know… But no, he never could. She would surely die if she hurt him as well… She already felt like she was dying, dying on the inside. She was truly wretched, dreaming of another man while she laid in her husband's sweet, warm arms. He was everything she could have ever asked for. Why couldn't her soul have chosen _him_ for its mate? Things would have been _so_ much easier. Why did it have to choose Erik?

She sighed. So many questions, but no answers. Everyday, she asked the same questions as the day before and others that she'd thought of. Yet, no answers. She looked out into the night sky, at the rising moon, and allowed her to slip into her pleasant memories once more. She closed her eyes as she remembered his voice, what a voice her angel had! She remembered the smell of the rose he left her, the feel of his hands on her during his opera, the look in his eyes as he led her to house on the lake.

When she finally opened her eyes and slipped back into reality, she felt even more miserable than before. But for those few minutes in her memories, she'd been at peace, wrapping the shadows around her. She was left longing for his voice, his touch, his passion…

She sat on a chair on the balcony, weeping silently into her hands, her face buried in her hands and her elbows propped up on her knees. The cool night air against the thin night robe she wore chilled her, but she made no attempt to sink the warmth in the interior of the house. She cried softly for a few minutes. He was no monster, she was. How long must she act? How long must she deceive everyone around her to prevent hurting more people?

She looked up from her hands, remembering.

…_One love, One lifetime…_

The rooftop…

_The preacher stood there, gazing at the couple standing there, holding hands. "…Until Death do you part…"_

The wedding…

_She lay in Raoul's arms on their wedding night after they'd… They'd… A voice in her ear. "…Never leave me, Little Lotte…" "Never…" she echoed._

The wedding night…

She sobbed into her hands once more. There were so many other, so many, many other occasions where she had promised to stay with Raoul. Forever. Her soul was doomed to die, slowly wasting away in the arms of the man who was not its mate. Perhaps this was her punishment for refusing her soul mate? Perhaps this was God's way of punishing for denying true love? Whatever the case, it didn't matter now. She was damned forever. She had damned her own soul. She could not place the blame on anyone else. This had been of her own doing. And now, it seemed, she would pay the price forever for her mistake. For hanging onto a childhood memory, a childhood love, a childhood crush…

Why couldn't she have seen it sooner? If only she had figured out her confusing feelings earlier, perhaps she would have had a chance at happiness. But, it had been too late. The days before the wedding had been a daze. A dark haze had descended upon those days. Her soul had been in such fierce agony, it had blocked all else out until she had reached the alter. It had finally cleared, but too late! With the final words that bound her to Raoul in matrimony, her fate had been sealed. She had smiled fiercely to hide the hurt and tears had gathered on the edges of her lashes. They had mistaken them for tears of joy. It was all the better they did, for the truth would have made them talk. And Raoul didn't deserve the scandal to his good name. He had comforted her, telling her that many brides cried on their wedding day. _Yes_, she had thought. _But not for this reason… Not out of despair…_

She sobbed harder. _Oh God! Have pity on me! Give me and my angel a second chance…_ she begged silently within her heart.

God seemed to be listening, for just then, the said angel rode up on a magnificent black stallion.

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Thank you, all of you for the lovely reviews. Once again, I apologize for the lack of updates. I've been very busy. But I hope things can go much faster now that I'm on summer break. Thank you, all of you. R&R please. Fay. 


	3. Update

Sorry to disappoint, but this is just one of those dreaded Author's Notes. I'm truly sorry about how long I let these stories go, but that's just the way life works sometimes. For more information on the updates of these stories, go check out the note of my page. Also, polls are going to go up so you can vote on what stories I should continue or not. I took down some of my old stories that I didn't want to work anymore on and left only the ones I felt had potential. I will take these votes into consideration when I choose which stories I may or may not continue in the future. Also, any I do choose to continue will go through some rewriting first.

Again, thank you for your time.

Sesshybabes (was Fay).


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